Sass does CoDathon2k18 - The Collection
by Sassy Satsuma
Summary: A collection of one shots and drabbles, my submission for CoDathon2k18. Mostly fluff and angst with a little bit of smut for good measure, centered around Ghost/F!OC, Soap/F!OC and Griffin/F!OC. Stories of love, loss and unlikely friendships.
1. Dark Paradise - Bones & Griffin 1 of 3

**Disclaimer:** _I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just an amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. I do own Lara 'Bones' McCoy of course._

 **Note from Sassy:** Hey guys! If you've stumbled onto this collection, then let me do a bit of explaining. For those who don't follow their fanblog, fuckyeahcodocs over on tumblr have been running an awesome community CoDathon writing event since December which closes today. The idea is to work on a writing idea and then post your contribution and yep, you guessed it, this is mine.

So I had planned a big multichapter fic, but unfortunately life got in the way. But even with crazy life stuff like moving city/moving house, the CoDathon has had me so inspired these past few months and so this story is made up of mostly drabbles and individual pieces I've written since December. The first three chapters kind of follow on from each other, but the remainder are one shots and are designed to be written on their own.

Remember Griffin from MW3? Well here he is in the spotlight, being a BFF to Lara in a world where she is stuck at home in the UK injured and genuinely believes that her friends in the 141 are dead. This is set in an CITS AU where Lara and Ghost are still a thing and have developed feelings for each other, because I am trash and like to break my own canon whenever possible. What follows that? Well, read on and see.

As always, I love you guys. Whenever I get a follow notification it quite literally makes me beam ear to ear. Thank you for giving me this platform to share my writing with you and thank you even more for supporting me over the years.

 _(P.S. CITS is not dead and I will be updating soon!)_

 **-x-Sass-x-**

* * *

She's just surviving at this point.

This isn't her and she knows it. Looking for solace at the bottom of a glass, drinking her life away when she's so bloody lucky to still have it in the first place. Knows that nothing is going to help her recovery _less_ than this. She should be back out there, building up her strength and getting busy healing, not languishing away in this grotty, sticky floored shithole of a pub.

And yet, she gets the landlord with only three teeth to his name to pull her another pint.

She's a doctor. She knows all about the grieving process. Knows all about mental health, about how the stigma is just a load of bollocks and that talking and a proper course of agreed treatment is the way forward. She's aware of the million and one ways in which she could be dealing with what she's feeling better, appreciates that she's doing herself less and less good the longer she sits perched on this bar stool, the dehydration headache from yesterday's bout of drinking intensifying in her skull.

It's easy, knowing all of that. Applying it to a hypothetical Lara McCoy who doesn't feel like her heart has been ripped right out from underneath her ribs.

The real Lara, she's the one struggling to take her own advice.

It's hard to grieve when you don't know if your friends are dead. Even harder to comprehend when you weren't there to see them fall, when every piece of information you are fed is from some abstract, second hand source. She finds herself thinking about them late at night, trying to recall their faces, their voices, their laughter. She can still see them in her mind's eye, although it feels as though the picture gets blurrier as the days wind on. But she can barely hear them anymore. There's no laughter there now, just a bitter silence and a desperation to _remember_.

It doesn't feel real. She's trapped, stuck in place. A self-imposed form of purgatory that's slowly pushing away everyone she has left one by one. By now, she's numb to the loss.

Riley is a constant presence in her head. At night, memories of him come to her in waves, forcing their way through the darkness and past her closed eyes. She remembers his smile, the deliberate and cocky way that he moved. She remembers the way he'd reach down and kiss her, harsh intensity mixed with a tender grip of her jaw. She can almost still hear their arguments, the brutal words that they had spat at each other back when that had felt like it was all they were. Some nights, she tries to comfort herself with the memories of the first time he'd told her that he loved her and the feverish way that they'd kissed afterwards. The memory often spirals out of control, moves to where they'd been naked and pressed together, his body trapping hers against the mattress. Riley had always had a habit of making every inch of her skin feel worshipped when they were together and the memory of it alone is heady, enough to send her reaching between her legs so she at least has a _chance_ of feeling him again. The fantasy doesn't last long after that, her touch empty compared to his and she often finds herself sobbing and beset by a fresh sense of loneliness.

Alcohol doesn't cure anything. But it at least forces her into a dreamless sleep where there's no time to lie awake and _think_.

She's worked so hard at pushing people away now that even her brother is keeping his distance, her childhood confidante so unbearably kind and yet so oblivious to the bonds formed between soldiers. It had infuriated her, forced her to say things to him that were wholly unfair and now even he hung back, limiting their contact to texts and phone calls so that he could at least keep a timid eye on her. Lara knows that he will be worried sick, her mother even more so and yet she can't bring herself to open up to them. _Not yet_.

Despite her best efforts however, she isn't alone. Somehow the SAS have adopted her into their dysfunctional family, gifting her with a constant shadow in the form of Griffin. She doesn't know for sure who gave the order for him to try and become her new, unwilling best friend, but she has a pretty shrewd idea. It's almost sweet in a way, the way one of the most accomplished special forces operatives in the world has been reduced to one broken woman's babysitter.

The poor bloke has suffered at her hand, not that his arrogant, no nonsense persona would show it of course. She's been less than receptive to his attempts to watch out for her, but even so she can't deny the fact that his routine appearance is almost a comfort. Without him, she wouldn't have made it home safe some nights, even if all she does is treat him like a punch bag.

It's not his fault, really. He's too familiar and at first his presence had been all too painful with just how much it reminded her of Riley. It was subtle, but unmistakably there in the way he carried himself, the way he spoke in cocky insults the way that Riley had when they had first met. One night when she had been at her lowest, Lara had reached up and kissed him, desperate to feel closer to the man she loved. It hadn't worked obviously, the mouth that hers had met alien and strange when she'd been reaching out for the familiar.

At least since then she's been able to see him more as Mark, rather than a cheap imitation. He's not the man she loves, but he is the one who held her when no one else would.

That counts for something.

Now he's sitting beside her, silent, idle fingertips tapping away at the cheap wood of the bar. She still feels wounded from his words, from his reminder that she wasn't there when her team needed her most. The knife he'd twisted in that moment had been wedged deep in her heart and she wants to despise him for it, but somehow she can't quite bring herself to. The old Lara is still in her mind somewhere, telling her that he did it to try and force her to see sense and although she can't quite let that rational thought take over, it's still unmistakably _there_.

Her eyes shift from Griffin to the pint glass in her hand, the exterior smeared with her fingerprints. Inside, the amber liquid sloshes as she examines it, white foamy scum swirling on the surface. She brings the glass up to her lips and tilts the liquid towards her opening mouth.

The beer reaches her skin just as she decides to close her mouth, lowering the glass. Somehow, the voice in the back of her head telling her to stop is a little louder today. A little clearer. She puts the glass back down onto the bar.

' _Do you really fucking think they would have wanted this for you?'_

She's heard those words so many times from so many different people and yet somehow today, they ring true. Instead of seeing Riley's smile, she sees his grimace, an angry furrow in his brow. She's known all along that it would kill him to see her like this and yet tonight she actually _feels_ it.

Perhaps the old Lara isn't quite as deeply buried as she had feared.

"… C'mon." She's standing before her thoughts betray her, throwing a fiver down onto the bar to pay for her last beer and turning to Griffin. "We're leaving."

"What?"

"Unless you want to stay?" She throws him a dark smile. "Doubt it though, you've complained about being here enough."

"And where exactly are we headed?"

"Home. I need a shower and about a gallon of coffee." She raises an eyebrow. "I only need you for the ride home part, obviously."

She's terrified as she leaves the pub knowing full well that tonight, without alcohol to dull her senses, she's going to have to feel, to confront the emotions that she's been running from. Sobriety will bring with it a whole of host of thoughts that she has been avoiding, but she knows that she has to face them and it has to be alone. The old Lara wouldn't let the unknown destroy her life and the new Lara wants to try and follow her example.

She needs to heal, both mentally and physically. She needs to rediscover her strength. To harden herself to a point where she can be the ruthless soldier that she needs to be. Because, there's no way she can exist any longer in this purgatory, trapped between not knowing and being too scared to find out.

She needs answers. She needs her brothers. She needs to do something, even if she is all that's left. But before she can do any of that, she at least needs to be _whole_.

Maybe tonight is her first step.


	2. Breathe Me - Bones & Griffin 2 of 3

**Disclaimer:** _I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just an amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. I do own Lara 'Bones' McCoy of course._

 **Note from Sassy:** Part two of my story about Lara and Griffin, here we go.

 **-x-Sass-x-**

* * *

It's been two weeks since she found out about Riley.

A body charred beyond recognition, but his dogtags survived well enough to ID him. They'd discovered him half buried in a ditch in Georgia, but it had taken weeks before the information had leaked its way down to sources who had been willing to tell her. Even then it had been Macmillan, speaking off the record in that soft, but stern Scottish accent of his that had been the one with bollocks big enough to tell her.

She hadn't reacted. Not even one little bit. She hadn't even flinched. She'd been numb to it all, dumbstruck, like the news was something her brain simply couldn't process. She couldn't even remember anything after that, didn't remember making her apologies or making her way home. The first thing she can remember is how the realisation had hit her that evening, when she was sitting alone in her dingy studio flat. She'd crumbled in that moment, sobs falling heavily from her mouth as her chest heaved. She hadn't eaten, had barely drank and had fallen asleep exhausted where she'd sat crumpled on the cheap beige carpet.

The next morning, she'd woken up with burning red eyes. Sadness still weighed heavy in her chest, but it was overshadowed by rage. Anger coursing through her body, her every thought fuelling the fire. She was numb to everything but that intense inferno inside herself, channelling it the only way she knew how. Before the news, she had been running more and more, trying to build herself back up to a state where she could go out and re-join the fight. But with the news of Riley's death came even more determination. Everyday, she ran further and further, pushing herself far harder than she should. Recovery was now a sprint rather than a marathon. She just needed to be fit enough to get out there again. There was no longer any real long-term goal.

Suddenly, little else mattered than being able to hunt down the ones who had taken Riley from her.

In truth, she had been fluctuating between extreme anger and extreme sadness ever since. She'd stopped drinking, but without the sedative effects of alcohol she found herself sleeping less and less. Eating was a chore, something she forced down just to reach her goal. When she wasn't exercising, she'd either be stuck in her flat, a caged lion waiting for release, or hammering down Macmillan's office door and hounding him for more information.

Griffin still visited daily. She had expected him to stop once she made it clear that drinking away her life in the local pub no longer interested her, but instead he simply made house calls instead, even if he only stayed a little less than an hour. Sometimes he'd stay longer, manage to say something to get her to open up, if only a little. Lara wasn't exactly sure still how he managed that when everyone else who tried was met with stubborn silence. She'd reasoned that it was because he was her only link to Soap and the task force that she'd lost, but if she was being entirely honest with herself, Lara knew it was something more. She _trusted_ Mark, leaned on him because no matter what she had said or done over the past months he had never failed her.

Now, he's sitting beside her on her lumpy mattress, his arms wrapped tight around her body as she presses her face into his shoulder. One of his hands is cradling the back of her head, stroking through the still wet tendrils of hair that hang there.

She'd come back from another run, her body screaming in pain from the exertion. A shower had helped, albeit a little, but she'd not really got any further, sitting on the edge of her bed, wrapped in a towel and lost in her own thoughts. It was always dangerous for her right now, giving herself _time_ to think, and this occasion had been no different. She was frustrated at the speed of her recovery, feeling angry and useless all at once. She was impossibly lonely, isolated, desperate to be back amongst the family she had lost. Sometimes it was simply too hard to forget all of that.

She hadn't even heard him come through her front door, had already been sitting there with tears falling steadily down her cheeks when he'd found her in the bedroom, sitting there like the helpless creature she felt she was. There'd been no pity in his eyes as he'd come to sit beside her, no false words of reassurance. Instead his face had spoken of understanding and he'd pulled her into his arms without hesitation.

In that moment, Lara isn't sure what she would do these days without him. A part of her knows that he was _asked_ to do this, to look out for her at a time when everyone believed she was a danger to herself. But despite his motives, there's no changing the fact that she has begun to lean on Mark, far more than she likely should.

Right now, he's the only comfort she has. She simply doesn't have it in her anymore to push him away too.


	3. So Here We Are - Bones & Griffin 3 of 3

**Warning!** _This chapter is rated M for a reason. Smut with a smattering of plot is NSFW, so you've been warned._

 **Disclaimer:** _I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just an amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. I do own Lara 'Bones' McCoy of course._

 **Note from Sassy:** The final part of the story of Bones and Griffin… for now.

 **-x-Sass-x**

* * *

When she became anything more than a pain in the arse he'd been saddled with, Mark wasn't quite sure.

He'd figured that he must be at the top of someone's shit list for landing babysitting duty. Had thought the request was a joke when it had first come down to him. A personal favour for MacTavish since the bastard's entire task force had gone dark practically overnight. Lara McCoy was the one member of the 141 left on the radar, injured and left behind in Hereford to lick her wounds. No one could be sure if she was actually at risk, but Griffin was there to make sure that she _wasn't_.

Didn't take him long to work out that she was at risk, but not from anyone else but herself.

He treated keeping an eye on her like work; clocked in everyday, did the same old shit, got the same old results and headed for home. She made it easy for him at first, her distaste for his presence not exactly hidden. It hadn't taken him long to work out that Lara was one hell of a stubborn bird, a woman who wanted to be self sufficient even when her world was quite literally caving in all around her. Griffin had admired that. Hell, he'd probably even _envied_ it, if he allowed himself to be truly honest.

But even the strongest walls fell eventually. Whether it was his clockwork persistence or simply Lara realising just how alone she was, Mark didn't know, but soon enough there were flashes of something other than irritation and anger in her eyes. The vulnerability and sadness that filled the woman's eyes wasn't exactly preferable to the fire that he'd once faced, but with her defences down, it was a hell of a lot easier to understand the woman Lara McCoy truly was.

So, in time, she became a mate. Someone he cared for without feeling any actual obligation to. He came to admire her spirit, her drive. That determination he saw in her eyes whenever she trained, the eagerness to return to the fight. It was a language they shared, something Griffin could _understand_. He'd be likely to do the same, had their positions been reversed.

All of that had made it so easy, _too easy_ in fact, to relate to Lara when Macmillan had told him that Ghost was dead. Griffin had barely heard of the bloke and yet a part of him felt the loss on her behalf. He wasn't exactly a sentimental bastard by any means, but that didn't stop him imagining the how he'd feel if it had been Wallcroft they'd pulled out of some ditch.

Not to mention the added fraternisation that by now the world and his wife knew had existed between Bones and her LT.

He'd watched her break. The progress she'd made over the past weeks had melted right back into nothing. Then, he'd watched the soldier in her take over. It drove her harder and her body had buckled under the strain. Aside from that one afternoon that he'd found her in her flat, crying and vulnerable, Lara appeared to have sealed off her emotions and closed herself off from the world.

 _Until today._

Today his friend had turned up at his door, pale and without the emotional mask that she relied upon these days. She'd asked him for a favour that he'd thought he had no right in fulfilling. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to, but hell, they both knew that he could never replace who Riley was to her, not in any real sense. It felt wrong to even try and fucking pretend otherwise.

"I want you, Mark." Her answer had been soft, but resolute, her right hand coming to rest on his chest. They'd been eye to eye, standing at practically the same height. "You're the only one I trust with this. And I just… need to _feel_ something again. Something that reminds me that I'm still fucking _human_ under here."

He hadn't had the heart to rob her of that.

Now she has her arms wrapped around his neck and the warmth of her body pressing so close to his that it's almost difficult to stay focused. There's an urgency to the way they are both moving against each other, but it isn't the frenzy that Mark's used to from his hook ups with strangers. Instead of a race to get their kit off, the kiss is slower, building in intensity in a way that's already got him way more turned on than he probably has any right to be.

Lara's hands are roaming everywhere, slipping across his shoulders and back. It's as though her hands are mapping out his body, exploring, _learning_. He returns her touch in kind, allowing his right hand to snake around her waist and cup a breast through her thin shirt.

She moans into his mouth at that and the sound alone sends a jolt of pure _want_ straight to his cock. Reminding himself that tonight is all about her, Mark slips his other hand down to her hip, steering her backwards towards the edge of his bed.

By the time her calves butt up against the edge of the mattress, her eager hands are already tugging at the bottom of his shirt. The kiss breaks and together they slip the offending item of clothing up and over his head. Cold air prickles at his flushed skin and Lara's hands soon follow, her fingers tracing the scars that litter his skin. Gooseflesh follows her touch and for a second Mark is lost in watching her as she bites her lip, head bent as though she is fucking studying him.

She leans forward and her mouth kisses a wet trail along his shoulder, slowly working a path up to the base of his neck. He's about to complain until her mouth finds his pulse point and sucks just hard enough to give him the right kind of pain. He groans, the sound breathy and hoarse and tilts his head, giving her as much access to his skin as she bloody well wants.

He decides that she's painfully overdressed. Slipping his hands under her shirt, he traces the taut skin upwards, following the curve of her spine. She's soft and hard all at once, malleable to his touch until his fingers reach a rough patch of skin. The body beneath his touch freezes. There's a pause before her mouth withdraws from his neck, blue eyes suddenly meeting his.

He realises too late to stop himself, his fingers grazing against the raised, uneven flesh of a large scar. It's the gunshot that cut her time with the 141 short, the injury that ironically saved her life and despite the heat coursing through his veins Mark is acutely aware that he's the first person to have touched it like this.

 _Shit._

"I'm sorry…" Her voice is small, embarrassed. "It's just that-"

" _I know_." He can't remember the last time he was this tender. Pushing that thought aside, he traces the edges of her scar with his fingertips, hoping to God that the look in his eyes is as reassuring as he wants it to be. "It doesn't matter to me." His hands drop to where hers now hang warily by her sides. Lifting her right hand slowly, he presses it against the largest scar on his abdomen, an ugly mess made by a kid who had no business holding a knife. He hopes that it's enough to reassure her, to remind her that they both have scars, even if in reality so many of his are already hidden from her.

A smile, it's short and fleeting, but it's there. Her hands leave his skin and in one decisive motion she removes her own shirt, tossing it to the floor to meet his. Griffin feels his breath catch. She's all muscle, a toned frame that speaks volumes about the soldier that she is and as she stands there in front of him, naked from the waist up, Mark has never wanted to touch anything more in his life than her skin.

Something inside them both stirs. They clash together all at once, a tangle of limbs and explorative hands. Lara sucks his bottom lip into her mouth, a momentary distraction as his hands fumble with the buttons of her jeans. They're fucking complicated when she's doing such wicked things with his mouth, both of her hands lost in his hair and tugging just enough to send tingles running down his spine. Teeth nip at his lip and he grunts, pushing her away so he can look down and finally rid her of her jeans and underwear. She plays rougher than he'd expected, but Mark has absolutely no problem in reciprocating.

He lifts her effortlessly, throwing her backwards and down onto the mattress before she can put up any real fight. His body covers hers immediately, pinning her helplessly beneath him whilst his mouth takes the chance to finally taste her skin, his lips nipping and sucking a calculated trail down her torso. She's wriggling beneath him now, fingers raking against his back when his mouth slips around one of her nipples and sucks.

He'd planned to tease her, to hold her here until she fucking begs for more and yet the needy gasps that are tumbling from her lips now make him impatient. His right hand slips between her legs and strokes against her heat, slowly so that he can enjoy the way her chest heaves beneath his lips. She's panting as his thumb begins to circle her clit, but it's the moan she lets out as he presses a finger inside her that tightens the knot that's busy forming in his own stomach.

She's fucking beautiful like this, back arched off the mattress, red flushing the paleness of her skin. It feels almost too intimate to watch her and yet Mark can't help himself, his fingers moving inside her faster as another moan falls from her lips. Head thrown back, she cries out, tensing when she finally cums around his fingers.

When her eyes finally meet his, Mark feels lost, suddenly all too aware that the last time he'd done this was with his ex, a woman who took what she wanted and hardly concerned herself with giving back anything in return. The lust fogging his thoughts lifts and he falters, realising that he's given Lara exactly what she wanted. Perhaps _all_ that she wanted.

The woman herself frowns up at him when she finally comes to, her face a silent question. He worries that this is his cue to leave and so he withdraws, pushing up from the mattress and away from her.

" _Wait_ …" Her hand catches him before he can get very far, fingers gently encircling his wrist. The way she tries to read him makes him feel under scrutiny, but it's the kindness in her eyes that holds him there, hovering just above her. Her kiss swollen lips part and then she hesitates again, waiting a beat before finally speaking. "The whole idea was for us to do this _together_."

He doesn't speak because right now he's pretty sure that his words will fail him. Instead he follows her lead and lets her pull him down so that he's lying beside her, his back pressed against the cheap cotton sheets of his bed. Moving so that her body half covers his, Lara presses her mouth back against his, the kiss starting slow and reassuring. Her lips seem to have a habit of making him want more and as she deepens the kiss, he reciprocates in earnest, one of his hands tangling in her hair whilst the other slips down to grip at her bare arse.

He didn't notice her hand opening his fly until it slips past the elastic of his boxers and takes hold of his cock. Grunting in surprise, Mark can feel Lara smirking against his mouth, her hand moving slowly up and down his length. Although she's still learning what he makes him tick her hand feels one hundred times better than his own. Mark isn't exactly ashamed in letting her know it as he lets out a rough groan, his hand on her arse squeezing harder.

He's rock hard again when she finally releases him, her body moving from his side. She moves over him, clumsily trying to rid him of his jeans and boxers from his awkward position on the bed. In the end, she manages to get them to his knees before giving up with a frustrated huff that even in the heat of the moment makes him laugh. Lara allows herself an embarrassed laugh of her own in reply, the first Mark can remember hearing and somewhere deep inside his stomach flips.

 _Laughter fucking suits her._

He knows what comes next. Hell, aside from her touching him this whole routine is like something out of his ex's playbook. He doesn't want to deny Lara this as she straddles him, her hands reaching down and positioning his cock against her. It feels like a betrayal to even compare her to his former wife, an insult that his friend doesn't deserve. But as she sinks down onto him, Mark braces himself for the inevitable, fully aware of just how easy it would be for her to use him like this.

What happens next catches him off guard in the _best_ way.

She starts slowly, rolling her hips against his in a way that fuels the tightness he feels in his belly. Her hands are lying flat against his chest, holding him in place whilst she does all the work. He's fucking transfixed watching her body rock forwards and backwards, her abdominal muscles tightening and going slack with each new movement. He's moving with her as well as he's able, hands gripping at her tight thighs as she grips him between her legs.

It's just like she said. They're in this together, both caught chasing the same heady rush but unlike he's used to it's as if they are both working at the same speed, revelling in each other and the electric sensations their bodies are generating. They're both panting now, their hips falling into a new, intensifying rhythm. Lara has her eyes closed and her mouth hangs open as she sighs above him, her hands leaving his chest so that they can hold her steady as she leans back. The invitation is just too tempting to resist, and Mark moves his hand down to where their bodies meet, his thumb massaging her clit in time with their thrusts.

When Lara cums again, she brings him along with her for the ride. Without thinking, he calls out her name, his fingers pressing into her hips hard enough to bruise. Boneless, his body drops back down onto the mattress and a second later Lara follows, a spent force as she collapses beside him.

Mark doesn't really mind the silence that follows. He's not exactly the greatest at pillow talk at the best of times, never mind now when with his friend lying naked beside him. Instead, he closes his eyes and listens to sound of his pulse thundering in his ears, content to lie still whilst his breathing settles.

"Thank you." It's an odd thing to hear, but Lara doesn't seem to care. Instead, she closes the small gap between their bodies and takes his hand.

" _Really?_ " Mark isn't quite big enough to stop the question from turning into more of a scoff.

"Not for the sex you twat. But for… everything else." Her hand squeezes his in illustration. "… Sometimes it feels like you're the only one who understands."

"Might have something to do with the fact that I'm the only bloke you talk to nowadays. Kinda easy to be the only one when you've got no competition."

"Has it ever occurred to you that you're the only one I _can_ open up to?" She's suddenly so much more serious now, her eyes burning into his. "You're the only one I trust enough to… well to see me vulnerable."

"Because I remind you of him, right?"

 _ **Shit**_. He'd been thinking it, but he sure as hell hadn't meant to _say_ it. He feels Lara tense beside him, caught off guard and instantly regrets the words. She swallows slowly and for a second he thinks that she's going to run, that in one fucking mindless moment he's blown all of the trust that she'd just been talking about.

Instead, she stays put.

"Yeah. At first." Her voice is quiet, almost ashamed. "But, for what it's worth… I _know_ you're not him. He – _**Riley**_ , isn't the reason why I came here tonight. I came here because I wanted to feel like Lara again instead of this…" She pauses, visibly frustrated that the right words are evading her. "… this fucking _shell_. And I came to you because right now you're the one real mate I've got left."

Mark doesn't think of himself as some kind of sap. He isn't usually one for the after-glow cuddle, usually leaves before any of that bollocks even comes up. But somehow, seeing Lara next to him, suddenly so open and vulnerable stirs something within him. An emotion that that's born out of empathy, not pity. Out of respect and care and fucking appreciation for what she's telling him. Because he _gets it_. He understands, just like she'd said.

For the second time that night, he doesn't trust himself to speak, doesn't dare break the trust that they share just because his words might fail him. Instead he reaches for her and pulls her into his chest, craning his neck so that he can press a kiss into the back of her hair. In reply, she wraps an arm around his waist and moulds her body around him, silence once again falling between them.

They don't stay there for long, but its enough.


	4. Don't Wanna Miss A Thing - BonesxGhost

**Disclaimer:** _I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just an amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. I do own Lara 'Bones' McCoy of course._

 **Note from Sassy:** This fluffy drabble is more Ghost/Bones and was written in response to a lovely prompt request sent to my tumblr blog. If you're the anon who sent me this, then thank you so much for the inspiration!

 **-x-Sass-x-**

* * *

If there's one thing that Riley knows, it's that love hurts.

It's all he's ever known in a way, his life a series of fucked up toxic relationships and a series of good people that he's loved and lost. No matter what he does, he endures when people who deserve better fade away and disappear around him. His mum, Tommy, Joseph… losing them has crippled him all but completely, the love he felt for them twisting into the vengeful, bitter ghost that he is today.

He hadn't wanted to love again, had pushed back against any stupid bastard who had tried to get that close. He'd held the world at arm's length, satisfied himself with meaningless one night stands and flings. It had been easier to simply close off his heart than deal with its contents, easier to stay sane, easier to be a soldier and screw absolutely everything else.

And then Lara had bulldozed into his life, hell bent on breaking down every barrier he'd constructed for himself. He'd been angry, spiteful and downright aggressive, falling back one by one on every subconscious defense mechanism he had until suddenly, _uncomfortably_ , he was laid bare.

He'd expected her to be horrified when she saw his true heart. When he'd told her about what he loved, what he'd lost and the violence he'd committed in response. He'd expected to see her eyes well up in fear and disgust, to see her body recoil and pull away from his.

But despite it all, she'd stayed. She'd stood by him in a way that he simply couldn't fathom.

He still hurt, but suddenly there was something more. Something _different_.

A love that didn't feel like it was killing him.

Now, she's lying motionless in her bed, messy dark hair spread out in all directions across her pillow. She's on her back, the sheets pulled up to her waist, one arm draped across her stomach whilst the other lies on her pillow by her face. The pillow beside her is still dented from where had had laid beside her, the place he wishes to God he could still be. Instead, he's out of bed and dressed, creeping around like a teenager. He doesn't want to wake her, not when she looks as at peace as he's ever seen her.

Riley hates goodbyes. Doesn't like the assumptions that come with them, the responsibilities. He never knows what to say and so instead he falls back on old habits and chooses to say nothing. Lara knows that last night was their last for a month or so, it was about the only piece of information he could tell her in light of OpSec. She asked him to wake her before he left, in fact now he comes to think of it Riley is pretty sure that he _promised_ to wake her, but that was about the same time as she was doing something ridiculously amazing with her tongue and so he figures any promise extracted under that kind of duress isn't binding.

It's rare that she sleeps this soundly, his girlfriend a notorious insomniac and in the end that's what stops him from waking her. He knows that just as soon as he leaves she will lie awake and agonise and that's the last thing either of them needs. Instead, he hastily scribbles down a note, a hasty apology followed by a request that she tries not to miss him too much while he's gone. He hopes she'll see the humour in his words but knowing Lara she'll still want to kill him when he finally returns home to base.

As he places the note on his bare pillow, Riley figures that is something that he can live with.

All he wants is to crawl back into bed with her and yet he bends down over her, a gentle hand stroking the hair from her forehead so that he can press a kiss to the soft skin. Lara stirs beneath him and he freezes, waiting a beat to see if after all his sneaking about he's blown it with one sentimental gesture. Instead, Lara's face below him crumples into a sleepy smile, her eyes still closed as her head lolls to one side. A second later and she's softly snoring again as though nothing happened.

Duty comes before what he wants. He straightens as quickly as he can, minimising the ache of leaving her in the same way he'd tear off a plaster. Before he can hesitate, he's grabbing his pack and striding out of the room, desperately trying to keep his thoughts from the fucking gorgeous nightmare he's leaving back in bed.

Like that's even _possible_ these days.

It was easier in a way, before. When his world revolved around himself and his job, when his need for survival was built around his own stubbornness to let anyone get the better of him. In those days, he'd been living for the sake of living alone, had never had to concern himself with anyone who might be back home waiting for him. _Missing_ him.

Now, he has _her_. She's real, the most healthy relationship he's sustained since he lost his family. She loves him and for his sins he loves her right back. Now, he keeps himself alive because he can't bear the thought of hurting her, of not coming home and breaking her completely. He fights because there's some kind of future for them, even if it's unconventional and flawed. He doesn't want to be without her, be without any of this. Doesn't know how much there would be left of him if he ever had to be.

Their life together is built around a constant cycle of goodbyes and reunions. But it's the coming back together again that somehow makes it all worth it. Even if every time it gets harder and hurts that little bit more, Riley knows that he will keep on coming back for as long as she'll have him.

He doesn't know where they're headed, only that he doesn't want to miss a thing.


	5. Hey Now - BonesxSoap

**Disclaimer:** _I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just an amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. I do own Lara 'Bones' McCoy of course._

 **Note from Sassy:** A bit of Soap and Lara fluff now, with a post coital cuddling drabble as originally requested by UrgentOrange. Set somewhere in amongst a CITS verse where these two actually get it on rather than dancing around each other like idiots.

 **-x-Sass-x-**

* * *

Flushed red skin is grey in the low light.

Outside the wind is blowing a gale. A distant streetlamp shines into the room, filtering in through the thick curtains, the soft light enough to silhouette their entangled bodies. The shadows of a nearby, leafless tree branch dance across the window and clatter as they tap against the glass.

Lara rolls off of Soap, her body heavy and light all at once. Her heart is hammering beneath her ribcage and she swallows, regaining her breath. Beside her, Soap moves an arm out so that she can nuzzle into his side, her head pressed against his chest. There's sweat on his skin, but she cares precious little for that now, pressing her face closer so that she can hear his own thundering heart beat beneath her ear.

His arm curls around her back and draws a lazy trail down her arm, her own sweat cooled skin turning to gooseflesh. She laughs a little at the sensation, shifting against him.

"I feel like a bloody teenager." His voice is little more than a whisper, but she still feels it resonate through his chest. "Been a good few years since this room saw any action."

Lara laughs at that. They're at his parents house, in his childhood bedroom, although any memory of the teenager who used to call it home is now lost beneath a clean magnolia coat of paint and brand new oak furniture.

"You were sneaking girls in here all the time, eh?" She smirks against his skin.

"Not as many as I woulda liked. But my parents had to go on holiday sometime…" He grins. "Those were the days."

" _Mmmm_ …" Propping herself up on a carefully placed elbow, Lara looks at him in the gloom, her free hand softly stroking through the dark hair that litters his chest. "I still prefer your flat."

"Last I heard you were complaining about the chippy downstairs."

"I was, but the smell of grease is better than worrying about a late night visit from _Mrs MacTavish_."

"Oh aye?" Propping himself up as if to mirror her, Soap brings his face closer, pressing a tender kiss to her lips. His free arm snakes around her waist, settling against the small of her back. "It means a lot to me y'know? You coming here."

"Well you mean a lot to me." Her answer is immediate and nonchalant, the days when she had to hide how much he means to her long gone. She watches the smile tug at his lips in the dim light as he presses forwards into another kiss. "Besides, next time it's my turn. Your family are nothing compared to mine."

"Walked right into that one, didn't I?"

"Yep. My mam prides herself on giving the Spanish Inquisition to all my boyfriends. You're going to love it."

" _Urgh.._." His body flops back down onto the mattress, melodramatic. Laughing softly, Lara settles herself back beside him, turning around in the process so he can cuddle around her back and spoon her. A heavy arm comes to rest around her waist under the covers and a gentle kiss is pressed to the back of her neck. "Good job you're worth it Dr McCoy."

She doesn't say anything to that and instead pushes closer against him. Her hand rests atop his and their fingers entwine. She can feel his breath, a soft tickle against the back of his neck. The warmth of him behind her is better than any electric blanket and even though there's a storm raging outside their window she's never felt so at peace.

Her limbs are heavy, her eyes even more so. But as she finally settles down to sleep, completely surrounded by the man she loves, Lara wonders if she has ever felt so content.


	6. Midnight - BonesxGhost (ME Verse)

**Disclaimer:** _I own nothing to do with Soap, Ghost or any other part of Modern Warfare as they all belong to Infinity Ward. I'm just an amateur writer who likes to borrow them a little. I do own Lara 'Bones' McCoy of course._ I also own absolutely nothing in the Mass Effect universe, that all belongs to Bioware/EA.

 **Note from Sassy:** And so here it is, one chapter out of the multichapter CoDathon fic I was actually planning on writing, a space opera CoD/Mass Effect crossover that follows the ex N7 soldier Lara McCoy and her strange, inexplicable attraction to the ruthless mercenary captain Simon 'Ghost' Riley. I wasn't going to post this one originally, since it out of context with the rest of the story and a bit of an anomaly within this story. That being said, I'm actually quite proud of this one, especially considering I wrote it in one go in the early hours of the morning. :P So indulge me, just this once, eh? :-)

 **-x-Sass-x-**

* * *

Midnight on the Wards looks just like any other time really.

There's the distant thrum of speeder engines vibrating through the air, producing a soft bassline which is punctuated with the odd high pitched wail of a siren. The apartment below her is having some kind of party, techno music rumbling out softly beneath her feet. Somewhere on the street, there's two asari laughing, tearing along the walkway whilst a hapless turian follows, begging them to slow down. It's a lot like back home on Earth in its way, except more vibrant and alive somehow. So many different species and cultures all bound together in one big but confined space.

Half the world is sleeping, the other half is partying and fucking _living_. Lara herself is caught somewhere in between.

She'd woken up in a cold sweat, her nightshirt clinging to her body in all the wrong places, restrictive and oppressive. Sometimes she sleeps soundly, lost to the world in a perfect, dreamless slumber. Most nights however, she dreams of the people she's killed and the ones that have almost killed her. She remembers the feeling of fire scorching past her armour and into her skin, the explosion that sent her tumbling to the ground, biotic barrier weak and barely strong enough to protect her. She remembers the face of her best friend, pale and lifeless. The one man she'd risked everything to save and yet still somehow managed to fail.

She remembers everything that N7 made her become and everything they forced her to lose.

It's always a losing battle trying to force sleep on nights like these. Instead, she'd showered and allowed herself a little pampering, padding around her apartment wrapped in a towel for far longer than she'd normally have time to. Dressed in her favourite sweatpants, faded Academy t shirt and a woollen cardigan that is so big it almost wraps twice around her frame, she'd fixed herself a sizeable mug of tea, sloshing in a good dash of whisky for good measure.

Now, she's out on her balcony, looking out over the twinkling, multicoloured lights of the Wards. There's an artificial breeze that brushes across her face, but it's hardly unpleasant, as close to fresh air as a person could get living on an oversized space station like the Citadel.

 _\- You awake? -_

Her omnitool buzzes into life, disturbing her sense of calm entirely. Lazily, Lara flicks her wrist, scrolling through the virtual interface to open up the message. She resists the urge to smile when she reads his name, but there's no escaping the way her stomach jumps a little.

A short conversation and a matter of minutes later, Simon Riley is striding as confidently as ever into her apartment.

"Shit, Bones... A fucking penthouse?!" She doubts that she's ever heard him sound so impressed as he steps out onto the balcony to join her. As ever he's dressed all in black, although he's gained a black eye since the last time she'd seen him, a large purple and brown bruise circling his right eye.

"All Alliance property, I'm afraid." She sighs nonchalant, sipping at her tea and definitely not noticing the way the dark, swirling tattoos littering his arms flex as he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto a nearby chair. Shifting her gaze to the cityscape ahead, she sees him move into her peripheral vision as he leans on the railing beside her, their arms close, but not touching.

"Maybe I jumped ship too soon after all."

"It comes with a lot of strings." She pauses, reluctant to return to the emotions that had led her here. Instead she takes another long sip of her tea and turns to face the man to her left, her right elbow still leaning against the railing. "Bit late for a house call though, isn't it, Riley?"

"Says the woman who let me in? My ship touched down a couple of hours ago. I headed to Chora's, but it was the same old fucking faces, so I figured that I'd message the one face that I actually wouldn't mind seeing." He reaches out, his fingers gently tugging at the woollen material covering her tricep. "Didn't exactly expect to waltz in and find you in your Granny pyjamas though."

"My sexy lingerie is at the dry cleaners."

"Right now, I'd be grateful for any kind of lingerie."

"Sucks to be you then, doesn't it?" Lara fixes him with a smug smirk of her own. "You asked if you could come see me. I never promised to be in a state of undress."

"Bloke's allowed to dream, isn't he?" Riley teases, pushing off from the railway. "C'mon then. Get a decent drink in my hand and then you can bore me all you like with what you've been up to the past three weeks, yeah?"

Lara wasn't sure when Riley had slipped past her defenses and into friendship territory, but pretending it never happened was a pointless at this point. They were so different, driven by entirely different moralities, or so she had first thought. She'd written him off as a lowlife mercenary, willing to kill whoever necessary for the right price. That had downright disgusted her at the start, if she was being honest.

Trouble was, that wasn't who he was. He was a mercenary alright, raw and brutal and unwilling to lift a finger unless there was at least something in it for him. But he didn't accept every contract, wasn't willing to lend his services to slavers just because they paid the highest price. Hell, Lara had ended up holding his corner in a street fight with a group of potential "investors" who just couldn't take no for an answer.

There was more to Riley than he wanted the world to believe and that was what kept her hooked. She'd see flashes of it once in a while, cracks in his armour that he either didn't notice or hoped she'd be too blind to see. It might just be a single sentence, or a gesture every once in a while, but it was enough to tell Lara that no matter what she had thought about him at the start, she might have misjudged Simon Riley after all.

There were other emotions there too and truth be told, Lara tried her hardest to push them back most days. At times when she felt as far as possible from her family and friends, Riley was often a friend who understood her, a zero judgement drinking partner who seemed to see the pain driving her to drink away her sorrows and know enough not to mention it. He had been an escape of sorts, one that she had indulged in a little too deeply in a moment of drunken vulnerability. They hadn't slept together, far from it in fact, but she distinctly could remember pressing him up against an alleyway wall outside Chora's Den, her biotics pulsing through her skin as they'd made out like a couple of teenagers. Riley had promised back then that she wouldn't be able to stay away forever, whilst Lara had invested all of her energy into making sure it never happened again.

Until now of course, when she's sitting on her living room floor, back pressed against one of the couches. She's filled with the warmth of the whisky they've shared, her cardigan long discarded in a clumsy pile beside her. Opposite, Riley sits legs outstretched, his back resting against an armchair. His face is set in a smile, dark eyes watching her in a way she can't quite decipher.

"So... where'd you get the shiner?" Her words punctuate the comfortable silence around them and she takes another sip of her drink, savouring the slow burn at the back of her throat.

"Defending the honour of a school bus full of kids, obviously."

"Bullshit. Schoolkids don't pay enough."

"Ouch." He laughs, soft lines crinkling at the corner of his eyes. Lara has given up trying to tell herself that he isn't handsome at this point. "Some bloke just got a lucky shot in, nothing more to it than that."

"I hope you made him regret it."

"That your way of telling me you care, Bones?" He raises an eyebrow, that self satisfied smirk that is damn near characteristic of him now pushing across his features.

"Please. I'm just too lazy to find myself another drinking buddy."

" _Uh huh_." She knows that the arrogant bastard doesn't believe her for a second. "Y'know, while I was away, there was this asari bird in the crew I was running with. Had a mean singularity that could crush its way through any fucking armour. She was fuckin' beautiful, knew it too. Half the crew were practically creaming themselves whenever she was around."

"And you're telling me this because?"

"Because even with that kind of grade A distraction parading around in front of my face, I barely fucking noticed." He shrugs, placing his whisky glass down on the coffee table with a gentleness that she didn't know he possessed. "... Even when there's this fuckin'... asari sex goddess right there... I'm still hung up on this Alliance bird who can't seem to decide if I disgust her or not."

 _Well shit._

Suddenly the whisky wasn't the only thing making her feel warm. For a second, Lara pauses, lost in the meaning of what he's trying to say. She feels displaced, the jolt from gentle teasing and joking to something a little more serious making her head spin. She's known for a long while that Riley found her attractive, but up until now she'd always assumed that he saw her as a conquest, a box to tick, another notch to add to his bed post. She's never actually considered that he might value her... more than that?

"... It's you, Lara."

"And I'm not looking for a one-night deal."

"If I was looking for that I would have tried my luck with the sex goddess." A smile, _thank God_. Lara feels a soft laugh escape her lips, grateful for his joke. She watches him carefully as he sits up, crawling towards her until all that separates them are a few inches. He reaches out, with fingers that trace up the side of her neck and come to rest just beneath her jaw. "Look... I'm not exactly proposing marriage, Bones. But, I like you. Give me some credit here, yeah?"

Lara entertains every response imaginable in that moment. She considers making a bad joke, thinks about teasing him with the fact that she'd likely never dare trust him with her credits. She toys even with the idea of pulling away, of giving herself space and time for the rational, overly cautious part of her brain to dream up some more reasons about why she should still hold Riley at arm's length.

But it all means nothing when she leans just that little bit closer and presses her lips against his.

She's done being afraid.

The kiss is slower than what they've shared before, but it still has the same intensity. Riley kisses her back immediately, the hand on her jaw moving to cup the entire side of her face, whilst his other hand moves to her shoulder. Their mouths fall into a quick rhythm, open mouthed kisses fuelling them onwards as their bodies press closer. Lara's hands wind up underneath Riley's shirt, her fingers slipping across a back littered with scars whilst he sucks at her bottom lip. She lets out a gentle gasp, feels him smirk against her skin as he ducks his head lower, kissing and sucking at her neck in way that promises plenty of purple bruises of her own in the morning.

As he pushes her backwards, lifting her t shirt so that he can press feverish kisses to her abdomen, Lara finds herself trusting him more than she'd ever imagined possible. Somehow, in this moment, she is allowing him to be utterly in control, an alien feeling that brings with it a deep sense of comfort.

It doesn't matter who she thought Simon Riley was. Doesn't matter if he's running from a past just as dark as hers. It doesn't matter that he's a mercenary and she's a soldier, that in her heart she knows that he is supposed to represent everything she's been taught to despise. Because, despite it all, Lara likes Riley. Trusts him. Cares about him as the friend he has shown himself to be. The man that deep down, she knows that he is.

She's spent over a decade in service to the Alliance, moulding her life around its every demand and whim. Living by its morals, shaping herself to represent the ideal that it presented to all of its recruits. And yet in the end, the Alliance chewed her up and robbed her of everything that had truly mattered.

There's no way in hell she's letting anyone rob her of this. Least of all herself.

* * *

 **That's it for my CoDathon2k18 entry! I'm sorry that this isn't a coherent selection of fics, but I hope that if you have read one or all of these stories, you've enjoyed what you've found here! As always, I can be found on my tumblr ( . .com) or by personal message on here!**

 **-x-Sass-x-**


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